This Extraordinary Thing
by Brooding Scot
Summary: The last 5 weeks before Christmas, and the month after, expanded to explore the characters more in depth. The David&Natalie storyline is the focal point but also includes Harry&Karen, Daniel&Sam, Mark&Juliet, Sarah&Karl and Jamie&Aurelia. [Ch2 added]
1. Foundations

**This Extraordinary Thing.**

**_Author's Note: _**I just felt like getting inside the heads of some of the characters in the film. I'll only be dealing with some of the storylines, and I've made the David/Natalie storyline the dominant one around which the others revolve. I also will change some of the stuff that happens in the film, so my story will be a mixture of things I've made up and things that happened in the film.

* * *

_"The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed."-- Jiddu Krishnamurti_

Chapter 1: Foundations.

"...rainfall totals have generally been well below average for most of the year, although there have been some exceptions with May, June and July being close to average. However, August and September have been exceptionally dry and October has seen well-below-average rainfall for most of the month. November is expected to continue the trend of the rest of the year, seeing one of the driest winters in recent history."

Natalie sighed as the weather report ended on the radio. She picked up her spoon, stirring her tea for the thousandth time and eyed the chelsea bun in front of her distastefully. She was thirsty but she didn't want to drink anything. She was hungry, but she couldn't face eating. After a morning trawling the London shops, her feet were screaming for a rest but suddenly all she wanted to do was get up and pace.

The truth was, shopping was okay - when she was in the mood for it - but the purpose for today's shopping spree was failing miserably. The reason it was failing was because of the three women sharing the cafe table with her who, unaware of their companion's black mood, were cheerfully making last minute wedding plans.

The shopping spree had a four-fold purpose. Natalie's next door neighbour, and part-time friend, had just started a brand new job and decided she needed a brand new wardrobe to go with it. To Natalie, this sent alarm bells ringing. Mia and Natalie weren't close friends but they did have things in common. Years ago, they had attended the same comprehensive school; they both possessed passionate, outgoing personalities; they lived in the same street, and they were both secretaries.

There, however, the similarities ended. Natalie had learned very quickly that Mia was addicted to men. It made her a font of wisdom on the male psyche but it also made her completely untrustworthy. She had a great sense of humour and she was a very good secretary but the emotional and romantic chaos she could wreak in the lives of people around her beggared belief. Natalie didn't have personal experience of this but she had seen it happen to mutual friends. Mia wasn't just addicted to men, she was addicted to _unattainable_ men. The more off-limits a man was, the more she desired him.

Natalie found it hard to believe the woman she knew now had been a quiet, retiring girl in school, uninterested in the opposite sex and obsessed with reading. Mia not only had been boy-shy as a teenager - she'd been the class swot.

What had changed?

Natalie didn't know the answer to that. She and Mia hadn't been close in school either and they had gone their separate ways after school and only met up years later when Mia bought the house next door to Natalie's parents. Even then, aside from over-the-garden-fence conversations when she was visiting her parents, Natalie hadn't seen much of her for she had been living in another part of London entirely, with - as she had initially believed - the greatest boyfriend on the planet. She had come to her senses a while ago but it had taken a long time to work up the courage to pack her stuff, leave and move in with her parents while she looked for a new home and a new life. In the end, she had only found the strength when her boss had told her she'd be transferring to a new department in November in what was essentially a huge promotion. Her boyfriend had taken the news badly and she had accepted once and for all, the relationship was truly unsalvageable.

She didn't regret leaving for a moment, nor did she miss him. She had quickly found a new place to live but, needing interior redecorating, she wouldn't be able to move in until after Christmas.

Mia, having been determined to spruce up her wardrobe - which invariably meant she had her eye on some poor, unsuspecting man at work - decided that Natalie needed to come with her. They could do house shopping and clothes shopping at the same time. After all, Natalie was starting a new job too.

Mia had also dragged along a new friend she had quickly made in work, another secretary. Natalie's gaze lingered on the tawny-haired American for a moment. At first glance, Sarah was one of those uninteresting women who blended into the background and would never attract a spotlight. Natalie had very quickly realised that Sarah was shy, introverted and not really a very confident person. Mia had decided Sarah should 'power up' her wardrobe and introduced her to Natalie. The two had made an immediate connection and enthused, Sarah had asked if they minded if she brought a friend along who was getting married very soon, for last minute emergency shopping. Mia and Natalie hadn't minded at all, and Juliet had proved to be, if not younger than they had expected, then certainly bubbly, enthusiastic and likeable.

So here they were, sat in a cafe in the centre of London on a dry, cold November Saturday talking mainly about weddings while drinking excessive amounts of caffeine and eating unhealthy - but deeply addictive - food as their ankles resuscitated from the gruelling punishment that had been inflicted on them.

Normally, Natalie wouldn't have minded. In fact, she loved weddings but today was different. Today she was feeling out of place and disassociated from the conversation around her. Juliet was beside herself with excitement and nervous energy and her mood had been contagious. Sarah, apparently pining for some guy at work she couldn't have but who was, apparently the hottest thing Mia had ever seen, had been infected with Juliet's excitement and cheered up immensely. Mia, always the optimist, was as perky as ever but Natalie, for some reason, had picked up the nerves instead.

Now she was sat here, watching her fingers shake slightly as she stirred her tea, her stomach churning sickeningly as she tried not to think about Monday. Her first day at work.

For some reason, the new Prime Minister hadn't gone straight to Downing Street after winning the General Election. He had held off for a week. Rumours abounded within Westminster as to why, including that he had been fighting with his new security team about living in Downing Street at all and that the outgoing Prime Minister had sought extra time because of the peculiar living arrangements his family had required during his premiership. There was even the suggestion that the new Prime Minister had experienced a death in the family and needed to address that before officially taking office. The speculation was endless.

It was all a bit of a mystery - although that went hand-and-glove with the new Prime Minister who, despite years of being a frontbench politician and therefore in the limelight for quite some time, was so fiercely territorial about his privacy that the country at large considered him an enigma. The media had dug out all the usual information for the public - place of birth, schooling, how many siblings, and career history but there was surprisingly little known about the man himself. He also had a long-standing and very close circle of friends and family who revealed absolutely nothing about him either.

True to form, what the media hadn't been able to uncover, they had instead concocted. He wasn't the first bachelor Prime Minister in British history but he was already turning into the most debated. During the Election, a member of a powerful gay rights group had observed that it wasn't just women who found him good looking: the gay community had been drooling too. While on the campaign trail, the media had ambushed the then opposition leader over this revelation, asking him what he thought about being a gay icon. The response had been a spontaneous and genuine burst of laughter and a polite 'no comment'. The media had noticed his lack of insult and suggested he might even have been flattered. Press speculation had been running rampant ever since and the country was now obsessed with the new Prime Minister's sexual orientation.

And this was the environment into which Natalie was walking. She had been a Westminster secretary for years but she had only ever worked for junior politicians, relatively unknown backbenchers who fought for their constituencies and either didn't aspire to greater things, or were unsuccessful at advancing their careers. She had never dealt with any of the frontbench politicians - she'd barely been in the same room as them. The Palace of Westminster was a mini-city. There were miles of corridors and 659 MPs in the House of Commons alone, a figure that ignored the House of Lords as being a part of the Palace that a Commons secretary like herself could not enter. The place was enormous.

Now, someone had decided she should be plucked from blissful obscurity and dropped right in the middle of the political machine itself. She had no idea what she was getting into. She had no idea if she could cope. She had no idea what the Prime Minister would be like as a boss. In short, it was obvious what was going to happen.

"I'll be fucked, that's what'll happen."

"So, Sarah said to me: '_Mia, you can't make a woman who's not allowed to see her future husband the night before the wedding show off a garter just to check it's colour co-ordinated with his tie! Hey, Natalie, you've been really quiet, what do you think will happen?_' Mia quoted in amusement. "Nice answer, Natalie."

Her gaze jerked up from her tea guiltily as she realised not only had she spoken aloud but she had revealed she hadn't been listening to the conversation at all. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "Miles away."

"We noticed. Where were you?"

"The usual." Natalie admitted darkly.

Mia glanced at Sarah and Juliet. "This means she's either dreaming about stabbing her ex over and over or she's panicking about what the new Prime Minister will think of her."

"I am not!" Natalie said indignantly, feeling her cheeks flush.

"The new Prime Minister?" Sarah asked, obviously not following the conversation.

"Oh my!" Mia stared at her, then quickly glanced at Juliet before returning her gaze to Sarah's face. "I didn't tell you?"

"Tell us what?"

"Natalie here is a high-flyer. Not like the rest of us hard-working down-to-earth secretaries. She's a _Westminster_ secretary, and her new job's at Downing Street."

Natalie glowered at Mia. She _knew_ where this was going. Mia continued blithely, ignoring Natalie's warning look. "Which means, of course, her boss is going to be Britain's second most eligible bachelor."

"Nice," Sarah grinned. "You can tell us if he really is as charming and good looking in person as he seems on TV."

"Don't you already know? If you've been working at Westminster for years?" Juliet asked.

"No, never met him, always worked for backbenchers." Natalie sighed. "Never done any really important political stuff. Always did the piss-easy constituency work."

"How did you get the job?"

"Don't have a fucking clue," Natalie sounded nervous. "I asked for a department transfer and went for a promotion. They were advertising all these internal vacancies, including a couple of foreign office and treasury jobs. I didn't get the foreign office one, and didn't hear anything back from the treasury one, so I gave up. Next thing I knew, the Treasury was contacting me for interviews and afterwards, this woman - Annie - told me I'd got the job but it wasn't a Treasury or even Number 11 job, it was a Number 10 job."

"Wish jobs like that fell into my lap," Sarah sighed.

"It's not as exciting as it sounds. It's a skivvy job. I'm on probation. They were worried about my lack of frontbench experience. Annie wants to see if I can work under the kind of pressure they'll have there before I get a full secretarial role."

"Yes, but even so, that's good. Congratulations." Juliet said. Then she grinned. "Is that why you keep chewing your fingernails?"

Natalie shoved her hands under the table. "I don't chew my nails!"

"Honestly, Natalie," Mia said, a little impatiently. "Your boss is male, unmarried and unattached. Open a few of those buttons, use some of that cleavage. If you ever get into trouble, that chest of yours is guaranteed to get you out of it."

Natalie stared at Mia in disbelief. " You've got to be fucking kidding me! I'm _not_ going to start flirting with the sodding Prime Minister!"

"I would," Mia said with a catlike grin and a dreamy gaze. "Who wouldn't?"

"Me!"

"Don't believe it for a moment." Mia leaned across to Sarah. "She already fancies him."

"Oh for fucks sake. I've never even met the man!" Natalie retorted hotly as Sarah collapsed in a fit of laughter.

"His face has been plastered all over the news for the past few weeks. Are you telling me you don't think he's good looking?"

"No!"

"She's blushing," Juliet observed, grinning. "Anyone else notice that? Or is it just me?"

"Oh, leave me alone." Natalie muttered in despair, feeling her cheeks get even redder.

"It's okay Natalie," Sarah said taking sympathy on her. "It's only a bit of harmless fun. Everyone knows the new Prime Minister is gay anyway. Let's face it: he's nice, he's charming, he's good looking - and he's not married. He's gay."

"Maybe he's just a workaholic?" Juliet suggested.

"Maybe he's a gay workaholic." Sarah shot back.

"Natalie should know, she _has_ worked in Westminster for years." Mia added.

Natalie gave her an incredulous look. "For _junior_ politicians. I've never dealt with a frontbencher in my life!"

"Yeah, but the news is always going on about the 'Westminster corridors of gossip'," Sarah pointed out. "So you must have heard something."

"Do you know how big Westminster is? It covers miles - literally. Gossip says anything!"

"Aha! So there is gossip!" Mia leaned forward. "Come on! Spill it!"

"What! No!" Natalie gesticulated emphatically. "No fucking way! I don't even listen to the gossip. It's usually not even sodding well true!"

"There we go!" Mia leaned back and folded her arms across her chest in satisfaction. She looked conspiratorially at Sarah and Juliet. "She means Westminster thinks he gay too."

"I said nothing of the sort!"

"You didn't need to," Mia smirked. "Does the Westminster gossip say anything different to the media gossip?"

Natalie glared stubbornly at her. But she wasn't going to discourage the conversation now - they'd all taken the bite. She groaned as they exchanged speculative looks. This topic was _never_ going to end.

"The papers claim he's gay." Sarah said.

"Not all of them," Juliet argued. "Some say he had a long-term romance that ended badly a few years ago and that he's never dated since." She paused, and then grinned slyly, unable to resist adding the next comment. "Maybe he's just got a broken heart and he's waiting for an angel from heaven to come along and mend it?"

"You can always spot the one getting married. Her head's in Fairytale Land," Mia laughed. "A lot of papers just say he's married to his job. Which sounds to me like all he really needs is a good, hard..."

"Mia!" Natalie's cheeks were flaming again.

"What! Why do you keep trying to protect him? It's not like you've even met the man!" Her eyes twinkled slyly. "Or have you and just won't admit it? Why would that be, I wonder? Natalie, are you _sure_ you don't fancy the Prime Minister?"

Natalie glared at her in mock indignation. "Don't be so fucking ridiculous, Mia. Like I keep saying, I don't fancy men I've never met!"

"Well I do." Mia retorted. "Brad Pitt, Derren Brown, Nathaniel Parker, Jude Law, Colin Farrell... God, Johnny Depp!"

"I'll go along with Johnny Depp," Sarah murmured, dreamily comparing his dark complexion with that of a certain Brazilian co-worker. She was rudely jerked back to reality as her phone rang. "'Scuse me," she blushed, grabbing her phone from her pocket and heading away from the table to answer it.

"Well I don't!" Natalie folded her arms across her chest defiantly.

"It's alright, Natalie." Juliet said with a broad smile. "I'm going to hold out hope of Prince Charming finding you, sweeping you onto his shining white stallion and taking you home to his castle. A politician hardly fits the bill."

"You're right," Natalie agreed with a grin. "He's the Prime Minister. Imagine the sleaze!"

"Exactly!" Juliet agreed. " He probably wouldn't know what polished armour is if it jumped up and bit him in the arse."

"A noble politician. It's practically a fantasy." Mia mused.

"Like Prince Charming?"

"We can dream."

"But not about sleazy, tarnished Prime Ministers." Juliet grinned.

"Not in a million years." Natalie agreed firmly. "Not in a million years."

* * *

There was a bustle in the corridors as the new Deputy Prime Minister barrelled through them. Not that this was unusual, the Palace of Westminster was a place that never slept; there were always people doing something, somewhere, involving bills, acts, parliamentary procedure, research, evaluation, debate, lobbying - or even just more down-to-earth and tangible things like rewiring the electricity, doing gas checks or redecorating and escorting public tours. Nothing ever stood still here, there was never time to breathe. 

He pushed through a heavy oak door and the minute it closed behind him, he was forced to revise that assessment. Parliament was still officially dissolved and technically, that meant the country was without a Government until the Queen accepted the recommendations for a new one and officially reopened Parliament. There was only a certain period of time from the results of an Election in which a new Government was allowed to form and establish itself and, for this new Government, time was almost up.

Of course, the reality was that whether or not Parliament was dissolved, the wheels never stopped turning. What it affected was who was sat in the Cabinet Room at Downing Street, and whether Parliament was sitting or not. Currently - it was not, which meant, despite the business in the rest of Westminster, the two Chambers sat unused, waiting for the debates of the new Parliament to begin.

Scowling slightly, Alex scanned the Commons Chamber. The room was almost empty, the silence eerie after the noisy corridor he had just departed. Many visitors, when guided to the Chamber in which their futures were decided, were often stunned by how much smaller it appeared than on television. There wasn't even room for all 659 MPs to attend at the same time. During full sittings, only 427 could find a seat at any one time, the rest would be squashed on steps, or crowded around the bar.

Currently, there was only one other person in the room, a man standing at the dispatch box of the Opposition Leader, leaning on it as any member of the Shadow Cabinet would do when addressing the House during official debates. He looked like a man trying to adapt to the view of the Chamber from a new position he would spend the next 5 years using. There was only one problem with this image.

Alex sighed and headed down join him on the floor realising his suspicions were accurate as he got closer and could see his colleague's attention was fixed - rather nervously - on the second dispatch box on the opposite side of the table.

"So, all those people who care about such things have been digging out the list of Prime Ministerial firsts," he began conversationally.

"Uh-huh," was the non-committal reply.

"Apparently, the new premier is going down in history."

"Mmm."

"Yes. As the least enthusiastic Prime Minister to ever hold office."

A pair of pale blue eyes pierced him in mild disbelief. Alex grinned. "Aha! _That_ got your attention."

"Funny." David shifted his weight uncomfortably against the dispatch box but made no effort to leave the Opposition Bench.

"But probably true. You _have_ been slinking through these corridors like a man who lost the Election, and people _have_ noticed." He eyed his old friend intently. "You didn't really expect to win, did you?"

"Not really, no."

"Despite all the Polls saying we were running away with it?"

"I don't trust Polls."

"_Nobody_ trusts Polls, David. But sometimes they're actually accurate."

"Accurate Polls? Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"Apparently not this time," Alex studied him. "What's _really_ bothering you about this?"

"It's.. um.." He hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the dispatch box on the opposite side of the table. "It's a lot further from here to there than I thought," he said at last.

"Well, let's see. " Alex walked across to the Government Bench, then turned and casually settled against the Prime Minister's dispatch box. "No, still two sword lengths. Just the same as it was before the Election."

David's expression was icy as Alex faced him across the table. Alex looked down and caressed the dispatch box that was beside him. "You know? I think this box is actually _smaller_ than the one you're leaning against."

"Alex, you know as well as I do that they're absolutely identical."

"You're right. So tell me again why you're so afraid of it?"

"I didn't say I was afraid of it," David's voice was a mutter.

"Uh-huh," Alex deliberately mimicked his earlier non-committal attitude.

David sighed. The truth was, he was haunted. He was haunted by something an American writer had said many years ago, something he had found rather amusing when he first encountered it but which had now spent the past few weeks tormenting him continuously: _'Democracy is a process by which the people are free to choose the man who will get the blame.'_ The minute he stepped through the door to Number 10, something was going to go wrong. Horribly wrong. He knew it with the complete certainty of a condemned man that was already standing before the gallows.

_It's all Laurence J. Peter's fault_, he decided savagely, cursing the demon in his mind.

Alex chuckled softly, as if reading his mind. "There _are_ worse things in life than becoming Prime Minister."

David threw his deputy another icy stare. "The Prime Minister is in charge of the Government decisions of the fourth richest country in the world, with a commonwealth trading heritage spanning the entire globe; not to mention the fact we're stuck in a dizzying downward spiral between the rock that's the EU and the hard place that is the US. Then, of course, we've got the domestic pressure of devolved national interests vying with Westminster in Scotland and Wales, and the peace process issues in Northern Ireland; When you include in that the education, business, emergency services, public health and standards of living of this country, to create a job that, if screwed up, could impact a hundred countries and millions of _other_ jobs would you _please_ tell me what's worse than becoming Prime Minister?"

Alex's jaw dropped for a moment as he contemplated that pessimistic challenge. However, he was nothing if not astute, and he had been playing the political game for decades. He perked up. "And this is why the Prime Minister has an entire Cabinet of loyal, efficient and dedicated Government Ministers to split the load."

David eyed the cheeky grin for a moment. "You're right," he groaned. "Being Prime Minister is bad - being Prime Minister and working with you lot is worse." He straightened. " On the other hand," he added in a slightly more upbeat tone. "If you annoy me, I _can_ just reshuffle the Cabinet."

Alex laughed. "You can - but just remember we can impeach you from the backbenches anytime we want to."

"Why on earth are you Deputy Prime Minister?"

"_And_ Foreign Secretary," Alex smirked. "And as I recall it's because you invited me to be. The Cabinet, Prime Minister, is entirely _your_ fault - and speaking of which, I'm here to tell you it's time we christened the Prime Minister's office with our first meeting." He pushed away from the dispatch box and headed out of the Chamber towards the nearby office.

"I hate you."

"A few weeks ago you liked me. That's not your first official U-turn is it?"

David eyed the departing minister's back. _It's true,_ he thought in despair as he reluctantly followed his laughing companion._ And I now have proof - I'm crap, the Cabinet's pathetic, the country's doomed._

There really _was_ nothing on earth more frightening than becoming Prime Minister. He was sure of it.


	2. Sand and Rock

****

This Extraordinary Thing.

****

Chapter 2

Grey overcast skies, grey buildings, grey walls, grey roads, and grey cars. Everything, in fact, was grey. Karen pulled down her sun-shield and popped the lid that hid the mirror underneath. From underneath a dishevelled tawny mass that she liked to pretend was a fashionable hairstyle, blue eyes stared back at her, pale with weariness. She sullenly eyed the nose she always thought made her look like a hawk and the bags under her eyes that made her look like an 80-year old. She was currently as grey as the rest of this sorry old city.

"God," she muttered. "I look older than Mum."

With an inarticulate mutter of frustration, she flung sun-shield back up to the ceiling and glared at the number plate of the car in front. Willing the damn thing to move so she could get out of this hellish gauntlet that was London's inner-city traffic, she concluded privately that Harry was right: only the insane used their cars in London.

The car in front started moving unexpectedly and she felt her mood lighten considerably as she escaped the lights and turned left into a new, and slightly faster flowing, road. At the far end of the street, she could see the next set of traffic lights looming.

"Stay green," she prayed as a bus pulling out from a bus stop momentarily froze the traffic on her side of the street. She was quickly back in gear again, and the lights ahead were still green. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" she exulted, finally reaching the traffic lights, with them still green and the road she needed to turn down so free of traffic it was actually looking empty by comparison to the streets she had just suffered through. There was a God, after all.

"Shit!" She slammed on the brakes and jerked to a stop right on the stop line as the lights turned red. There was a God, alright - and He hated her guts. She glared into her rear-view mirror as the car behind beeped noisily at her, the driver gesticulating angrily at her. _Stupid women drivers_. She could see that thought flash across his features with the clarity of a neon advertisement sign.

"Male chauvinist pig," she growled back, despite the fact he couldn't hear a word she said. He must have realised she'd said something though, because a moment later he thrust his middle finger into the centre of his front window - just for her. "Prick," she added vindictively.

Mercifully, the lights changed swiftly, and she turned left again, noticing with some relief that the car behind was going straight on. At least she wouldn't have to put up with him tailgating her for the rest of the journey.

It was with a sigh that she parked behind the large, grey Landrover and turned off her engine, but even that was a short-lived relief. She checked the road carefully, opened her door and climbed out - only to be flattened back against the side of her car by the van that appeared out of nowhere, careering down the road at speeds that were, she was convinced, faster than the speed of sound.

"Jesus Christ! The whole world is out to get me!" She slammed the door closed with much more force than was necessary and opened the boot, pulling out bags of shopping. After making sure the car was locked up - after her day, she was certain the damn thing would be stolen right from under her nose - she staggered onto the pavement. From there, it was a short journey up the steps to the plain, but inviting, white front door to dump the shopping and ring the small golden bell.

The man that answered the door was looking dishevelled - his hair in disarray from long hours of worrying with nervous hands and the old tracksuit he was wearing accentuating the grungy impression of him. His blue eyes looked bleary and for a moment she wasn't certain if she had interrupted him from sleep or from crying.

"Karen," he said in relief. "Come in, come in."

"Daniel," she replied warmly, momentarily forgetting her car journey from hell. She bent to pick up the shopping and stagger in with it but he stopped her with a sharp exclamation.

"Fuck, Karen, you haven't bought out the entire city, have you?" He demanded, heading into the kitchen with half the bags. Behind her the door slammed as she kicked it shut and hustled the rest of the bags through after him.

"No, just most of it," she replied, heaving them onto the table and beginning to unpack.

He pawed curiously through the bags to see what she had bought. "Christ, you look like you're setting me up to survive a famine!"

"Who knows _what_ this new Government will do to the price of perishables," she grinned, hauling the huge bottles of milk to the fridge.

"Voted for the other guy, did you?" Daniel began putting away boxes as his oldest friend quickly took control of the refrigerator.

"Absolutely," she declared. "You think I'd trust a man I wouldn't let baby-sit my own kids to run the country?"

She had her back to him, but Daniel knew she was grinning and he smiled too. "Really? I thought your brother was the one who refused to baby-sit the kids."

"No, just Bernard. Not that I can blame him for that. Do you know what my dutiful son said to me the other the other day? He said that Bart Simpson's an amateur! Makes you wonder what he gets up to when my back's turned, doesn't it?" She paused, considering that. "Actually, let's not - that would keep me awake with nightmares for months."

Daniel chuckled softly. "You voted for him, didn't you?"

She turned around to shake the empty shopping bag at him indignantly. "Daniel, if you _ever_ tell him that I will skewer you with my favourite kebab fork."

He raised his hands submissively, not bothering the hide the grin. "My lips are sealed," he promised. He wasn't lying either. Years of friendship with Karen had taught him a very valuable lesson in survival - never, _ever _get involved in sibling rivalry. Especially not when the siblings were a women who was frighteningly adept at wielding kitchen utensils in ways they were never designed to be used and a man who had just been elected Prime Minister.

"They better be," she grumbled, looking around to identify more bags to unpack.

Seeing this, Daniel made a shooing motion with his hands. "Come on, get your fat arse out of here and let me deal with this."

"Where's Sam?"

"In his room," Daniel said shortly, his humour fading immediately. "Good luck trying to get anything out of him."

She eyed him for a moment. "I'll go and say hi to him then, since you're so determined to kick me out of the kitchen."

"Jesus, can't chain a woman to the sink, can't tell her to take a break. Karen, just piss off, will you?"

She grinned. "Pissing off all the way up the stairs!" She hurried out before he could chase her out and headed up to the first floor.

She hadn't seen much of Sam since his mother had died and she was worried he'd be missing a maternal figure in his life. Although she didn't want him to believe she was trying to replace his mother, she was hoping he'd understand she was there if he needed a woman to turn to.

She stopped at Sam's door and eyed the message that was right at her eye level: "GO AWAY!"

Capital letters and multiple exclamation marks was _not_ a good sign. Cautiously, she placed her head against the door, and listened for a moment. There were few sounds coming from his room, except for an odd comment she could barely make out - something about the reasons why psychopaths killed people. She frowned slightly and tapped the door.

__

"Daniel! I said get lost!" was the irritated yell from the room.

"Sam? It's Karen."

There was a thump from the room and then sudden silence. Karen shifted uneasily as she waited, not sure what was going on in there. She was just about to knock the door and call again, when it opened slightly and a rather dishevelled looking boy peeked out at her inquiringly.

His eyes looked as bleary as Daniel's did.

She gave him a little wave. "Just did some shopping for Daniel and decided to pop up. Say hi..."

"Hi," Sam said bluntly and disappeared back into his room.

She stared at the closed door for a few moments. "...see how you were doing, check if you wanted anything," she muttered to herself. "Nothing important." She sighed and headed back down the stairs again.

"Any luck?" Daniel asked as she walked back into the kitchen. He had just finished putting away all the shopping and was switching on the kettle.

"He said hi," Karen tried to sound optimistic.

"Then slammed the door in your face, right?" Daniel said sourly. "He's been doing that a lot. I'll talk to him later about it."

Karen winced and shook her head. "Daniel, don't. It's fine, really. His mother died yesterday - it's not the end of the world if he wants to sit in his room and cry for a while."

"Yeah, I guess so." Daniel turned around to hunt for some mugs. "He hasn't said anything, you know - about his mother." He pulled out milk and then sugar, too agitated to remember Karen had vowed to give up sugar in her tea and coffee. "He didn't say anything all yesterday. Didn't see him all night. He didn't come down until gone midday, I couldn't get him up for breakfast and he's barely eaten any lunch." He dropped two teabags into each mug instead of just one, but didn't notice and then suddenly turned on Karen. "Do you think I should force him to sit down and talk to me about it?"

Karen hesitated for a moment, not sure what the right answer was, or even if there was an answer at all. He was gazing at her with an honest desperation in those clear blue eyes as if she could cure all the world's ills - which was ironic in a truly horrible way. If she had that power, the operation and chemotherapy would have worked the first time around; Joanna's cancer wouldn't have reappeared; and she wouldn't have had such a slow, lingering and painful death.

They had known for a long time that she was going to die. Over a year ago, the doctors had given her three weeks to live. They had said there was nothing more they could do, the cancer was back and more aggressive than ever. The worst news, however, had been the knowledge that her body was fighting the chemotherapy. It had worked so well the first time around.. or so they had thought. This time, it wasn't even making a dent. The doctors had prescribed her medication for the pain, sent her home and implied she should make a serious effort to put her affairs in order.

With Daniel in complete denial, utterly refusing to accept the grim prognosis, the first decision Joanna had made was to live long enough to see her son's 10th birthday, six weeks into the future and double the projection the doctors had given her. She made it with flying colours and that seemed to have bolstered both her confidence and determination to fight the disease - and when, against all the odds, she made it to Sam's 11th birthday, Daniel had dared hope she might actually be winning.

It had all proven to have been a terrible lie. Joanna had spent the year tying up her affairs; giving closure to old friends and family; and ensuring the funeral details were all planned down to the last dotted 'i' and crossed 't'. She had updated her will; argued with social services about Daniel's right to remain primary caregiver of Sam instead of it reverting back to his maternal grandparents - his only living blood relatives; and made arrangements over which comprehensive school Sam would attend in the future. She had made it through Sam's 11th birthday, got him off to a flying start in his final junior school year, and then deteriorated almost overnight. It was as if she had held herself together just long enough to ensure Daniel and Sam's futures, then given up the ghost.

And now Daniel was in denial all over again.

He knew his wife was dead. It was an unavoidable fact that refused to get out of his face. He had called Sam out of school on Friday to get him to the hospital before it was too late; and together they had sat beside her bedside, vainly hoping she'd find a new strength, or wake one last time to say goodbye.

She had done neither of those things. After collapsing unconscious at home, she had never regained consciousness to know that she had made it to hospital, or died surrounded by her husband, son and parents.

Daniel had signed the coroner's certificate. He'd even run it straight over to the Registrar's Office on the way home from the hospital. Unable to bear the comfortable seats or quietly dignified decor of the waiting rooms he sat impatiently in the car park with a painfully silent Sam for nearly an hour waiting for an official response. The Registrar had been suitably apologetic about the delay, given him yet more paperwork he needed to fill out for both the Department of Work and Pensions and the funeral director of the service Joanna had planned, and wished him well.

Bereft of a civil answer, Daniel hadn't responded at all, and driven home as silently as Sam.

The following morning had seen him running more errands to resolve paperwork and a return home to find social services camped on his doorstep. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the way the bureaucratic circus managed to crawl out of the woodwork, he had allowed them to give him even more forms to fill out regarding Sam's status as his legal ward and gruffly pointed out his wife had addressed all this while she had been alive. With painted smiles and marionette nods, the goons had pointed out where he needed to sign and what he needed to read and then left, satisfied with another day's work completed and another reason to celebrate their salary down at the pub over the weekend.

Now Daniel was just tired. His wife had been officially dead for almost 24 hours and he already felt like he didn't any emotions left to express.

And he hadn't even begun to address what Sam must have been going through.

"Do you want to force him to sit down and talk about it?" Karen asked bluntly.

"Fuck no," Daniel sighed in exasperation.

"Then quit fussing like an old hen and starting acting like a host - that kettle's boiled."

"You're a fucking bully, Karen, you know that?" he smiled faintly, nevertheless. Karen had a sixth sense for knowing when he needed to be kicked or comforted. She was the closest thing he'd ever had to a sister - although he seemed to appreciate her attitude a lot more than her real brother did.

"I made the Prime Minister the man he is today," she retorted, looking completely straight-faced.

"What - a spineless, wet-behind-the-ears, woman-fearing eunuch?"

She laughed but her amusement died quickly as a moment later he began swearing hard enough to make a sailor blush. "What?" she asked quickly.

"Fuck! I knew I'd forgotten something!" the mugs clattered onto the table in front of her, although fortunately without spilling their contents everywhere, as Daniel began to cast about frantically for the phone.

"What?"

"The funeral!" he found the phone and hurried back to her.

"Next Thursday, I know. Stop panicking, Daniel. It's all sorted and everyone knows."

"Everyone except David!"

"David doesn't know!" She stared at him.

"Fuck!" He flicked through his address book. "I don't have his new fucking number."

"Here," she grabbed her handbag and began to dig through it. "God, where the hell did I put my address book?"

As Daniel juggled the phone impatiently in his hands, she gave up and upended the bag onto the kitchen table: purse; phone; painkillers; crumpled receipts; notepads; pens; pencils; sunglasses. A London street map; a crime novel by some author he didn't recognise - no, make that _two_ novels. Loose keyrings without any keys attached; her actual keys; feminine products he didn't want to investigate too closely; perfume; deodorant; wet-wipes; travel soap; and, for some reason, a small toy.

The toy squeaked in protest as it landed on the table.

He stared at the amount of objects that flooded onto the work surface in disbelief. "Christ, woman, is that thing a bottomless pit? You could fill Loch Ness with all that!" He picked up the sunglasses, wondering what on earth she was carrying them around for in November, then he looked at the two novels. "_'Wrecked on the High C'_ and _'Midnight Oil'_" he mumbled aloud to himself. "Both by James R. Bennett. Never heard of him. What's he like?"

"Haven't read them." Still digging through the pile, Karen didn't look up. "He's a friend of Sarah's, she dumped them on me to read."

"Humanitarians, teachers, novelists, charity workers, architects, Prime Ministers... is there _anyone_ in London you don't know?"

"I haven't met the Queen," she responded absently. "Found it!" She held up her address book triumphantly, then began to dig through it quickly for David's number, before handing it across to him.

He grabbed it off her and quickly dialled the number. Not entirely sure what to expect, he was answered promptly by the calm, professional voice of a mature woman.

__

"Hello, this is the Prime Minister's office. My name is Mary, how may I help you?"

"Thank fuck he's still got you as his secretary!" Daniel burst out in relief, flicking on the speakerphone so Karen could hear as well. "Mary, it's Daniel. I need to talk to David ASAP. It's about the funeral."

There was a pause before Mary finally responded, her voice just a shade uncertain. _"He's not in the office right now. If you're willing to hold I'll see if I can track him down for you."_

"Thanks Mary," Daniel said gratefully. The phone went silent, obviously Mary had muted it at her end. He looked at Karen who was diligently packing away the mess she had made into her abyssal handbag. Daniel paced impatiently as Mary took her time returning to the phone, and watched Karen bravely drink her too-sweet tea. "How fucking hard can it be to find the bloody Prime Minister?" He growled after five minutes had passed.

"You know David - he's like a chameleon when he doesn't want to be found."

"You're right," he sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised."

He was beginning to think his phonecall had been completely forgotten when the phone finally buzzed back into life. Expecting Mary's voice, he was almost weak-kneed with relief to discover it was actually David after all.

__

"Hey, Daniel, what's up?"

"What on earth took you so long?" Karen interrupted.

__

"Karen?" There was a pause. _"I'm on speakerphone. Great." _There was a faint sigh. _"Sorry about that, Westminster's a huge place to try and track people down in."_

"You're at Westminster?" Karen shot Daniel a baffled look. "Aren't you supposed to be in Downing Street by now?"

__

"What can I do for you?" The change of subject was abrupt enough to make even Karen blink.

"Funeral details." Daniel took control of the conversation, his voice remaining as businesslike as possible. "Next Thursday, 10am, St. Andrews in Wandsworth. Can you make it?"

__

"Of course I can," the response was immediate. _"How are you and Sam holding up?"_

"I'm fine," Daniel said shortly. "Sam's... not really talking about it yet."

There was a sudden whispered conversation on the other end of the phone that the pair couldn't quite discern. Then David gave a faint exasperated sigh. _"Daniel, are you going to be able to deal with extra bureaucracy securing the premises for my pres---"_ He trailed off mid-sentence and the phone went silent.

"He doesn't normally do that, does he?" Daniel muttered to Karen. She shook her head, eyes wide but David responded before she could speak, his voice strained.

__

"Did you say Thursday? As in the 20th?"

"Yes, 10am." Daniel could feel a cold knot of apprehension tying itself in his gut. His old friend's tone didn't sound good. The question didn't sound good.

__

"That's the date of the State Opening of Parliament," David said very softly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

David didn't answer immediately. He obviously wasn't joking, and it brought the conversation to a crashing halt for one simple reason: neither a funeral nor a State Opening of Parliament could be easily rearranged - especially not for just one man, no matter how pivotal that man might have been. Daniel didn't even want to consider the logistics involved in either one.

__

"This is an awful situation." David said at last.

Daniel sighed. "It's not your fault, David. Harry can't make it either - he's got a meeting with a fuckload of African ambassadors regarding some fair trade negotiations."

__

"If I could.."

"David, quit bellyaching!" Daniel ordered. He could see what was going to happen. It was annoying that two of his oldest friends couldn't be there but Joanna had planned for every contingency except two - Harry's business expanding its influence and trading contracts to three new African countries and David becoming Prime Minister. He knew David well, however, and was certain the man would suffer excessive guilt-trips for months to come if Daniel didn't nip it in the bud right now. "Joanna wouldn't want the country to grind to a halt just for her sake and you know it. Make sure you get her the biggest bunch of pink curcumas you can find and, since she voted for you, concentrate on fixing the mess the last Government made."

__

"Right." David's voice seemed strangely uncertain.

"You know what curcumas are, right?"

__

"I have_ bought flowers for women before, Daniel - thank you,"_ David sounded both amused and indignant.

"You haven't had a girlfriend in four years, David. I'm amazed you remember the process at all." Daniel muttered.

__

"Thank you so much for reminding me how long it's been. I appreciate it," was the sarcastic response.

"Your fault, David. Half the country's madly in love with you, the other half fancy women. Pick someone and stop being so fucking fussy."

There was a distant knock followed by a soft feminine voice, barely audible in the background. _"Prime Minister, the Home Secretary needs a word with you as soon as possible."_

__

"Excellent timing, Annie," they heard the Prime Minister mutter to her in relief.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off and ignore the real people like you sleazy politicians always do after elections," Daniel told him.

__

"Daniel, I am very sorry I can't make it but I can promise you the curcumas."

"Keep that promise and we'll call it quits. Go. Have fun."

__

"Right," was the slightly disbelieving response. _"Karen, I'll talk to you soon."_

"No you won't," Karen muttered absently as her brother hung up. She looked at Daniel as he sat down next to her.

"Fuck," he muttered in despair and buried his head in his hands.

Karen smiled sympathetically and rubbed his shaking shoulders but she didn't say anything: it was the first time since Joanna's death that he had cried.


End file.
